Red and Blue Stains
by x8y7w6
Summary: Aunt May does the laundry…only to find red and blue stains everywhere. Post The Amazing Spider-Man 2.


**_Red and Blue Stains_**

_"...The greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places."_

-Roald Dahl

* * *

Aunt May tentatively steps out into the hallway, glancing warily back and forth between the front door and the laundry room. Moments ago, Peter had yelled a quick goodbye before taking off to God-knows-where. But she has to double-check. Just in case.

After a minute or two passing without her nephew reentering the house, she releases a sigh and drags both her and Peter's laundry baskets to the laundry room. It's moments like these that she is reminded how lonely she is. Ben used to help her carry the heavy bags of laundry. He used to help her do a lot of things actually: mediate the arguments between her and Peter, pay the bills, drive to the grocery store…

May breaks that train of thought before it could continue; thoughts like those leave her moody and depressed. She can't afford to break, to show weakness—not now. If only for Peter's sake.

Upon reaching the laundry room, she hefts the bags next to the washer, panting slightly and wishing she was as fit as she was in her teenage years. Without much thought, she stuffs all the clothes together in the washer (both whites _and _colors), pours a cupful of detergent, and plugs in the settings before pressing 'Start'.

As the machine begins buzzing and shaking from the movement inside, May backs up against the wall and slowly slides down. Even without peeking in a mirror, she knows how she looks. Haggard. Gaunt. Timeworn. Neighbors stare at her in concern whenever she takes the trash out. Nurses at the hospital constantly question her health. Friends call up every now and then to make sure she hasn't completely lost herself.

And then there is Peter. Peter, who she knows still blames himself for his uncle's death. Peter, whose behavior truly puzzles and worries her. Peter, her sweet, young, innocent little boy that's like a son to her—no, _is _a son to her.

Well, maybe not so innocent anymore. He can pretend all he wants, but May is impeccable at deciphering emotions. She sees the darkness in his eyes, mixed with maturity and the look of someone who has been through so much. It scares her: watching him come home at absurd times every night, with noticeable injuries that he tries so hard to cover up. She doesn't know what to make of it anymore; every possibility she has considered doesn't add up, doesn't make sense.

He's not in a gang. He isn't doing drugs. He isn't being bullied—or perhaps if he was, it's not the source of the injuries. It just isn't who he is. Peter is many things, but he is not _bad_. He is not _evil _or _cruel_. Perhaps idiotic—yes, he certainly could be at times. Not to mention his lack of self-preservation.

But otherwise…

The humming from the machine is oddly soothing to her, especially when her thoughts are running rampant like this. She starts rubbing her temple in circles, and the headache from before finally feels as if it's subsiding.

In the end, she knows there's no point trying to figure Peter out. He does take after his father, after all. With his family history so full of secrets, it's no wonder he's the most secretive person she knows.

Though, for the life of her, she can't figure out his issue with her doing the laundry.

Of all the secrets he hides from her, it's the smallest, most mundane one. Yet she still feels bothered by it. It hasn't been a problem beforehand; in fact, Peter used to complain about being asked to help her do it.

Now he is completely deadest against her washing his clothes, much less _sorting _through them. She supposes it could be involved with Ben's death, but his obsessiveness over the issue makes her think otherwise. One doesn't get that neurotic over _clothes _of all things. If he is so insistent on "preferring to do chores himself" then why does he have no issue leaving stacks of dishes in the sink and never offering to vacuum the floors?

Wrapped up in her thoughts, she almost misses the little _ding _that signals the washer is done. Sighing, May drags herself up. At least she can feel triumphant in _finally _doing his laundry. Today he must have been in a rush; for the first time, May had spotted unguarded loads of dirty laundry in his surprisingly-unlocked bedroom.

_I should be able to wash my child's clothes, damn it, _she thinks bitterly, _I am his guardian and _**I**_ should be taking care of _**him**_._

She picks up a plain, white t-shirt of his and is about to chuck it in dryer until she notices something odd.

_Is that….red and blue? _She wonders mentally, looking the shirt over in her hands. Granted she took the lazy route and had mixed all the colors together, but she had put the setting on 'Bright Colors'. The cold wash shouldn't have allowed anything to stain.

Blinking for a moment, she shrugs. Perhaps he spilt Italian ices on himself. Or decided to make use of that paint set she bought him for Christmas a few years ago (he _is _pretty artsy, not that he'll admit it).

So she leaves the shirt out, knowing she'll need to bleach it later. This is what she gets for allowing laziness to get the best of her and throwing everything in all together.

She picks up another piece of clothing—this time one of his dark blue jeans—only to halt in her movements once again.

Because, randomly blotting the right leg of the pants, is a mesh of red and blue. The already blue shade of the jeans makes it look purple, but she can tell.

Literally scratching her head, May leaves out this piece of clothing as well. Her eyes bear into the washer realizing—_holy shit—_everything is stained with bits of red and blue colors.

Her mind immediately thinks back to the first time this had happened. Peter had done his laundry and, hours later, when May went to do her own, they came out with the same assortment of red and blue colors. After interrogating Peter about it, he claimed he was washing…what was it again? The American Flag?

She scoffs at the thought. What a dumb excuse.

But then, maybe the real reason is in the laundry, right now, hiding underneath all the clothes that he apparently doesn't want her to touch.

Suddenly the slow, hesitant way she had been handling the laundry is abandoned for a crazy, hectic sort-through. She throws everything in the washer in the air, eyes furrowed in both confusion and shock. What the heck could he have possibly gotten on his—

She freezes.

Minutes whizz by while she stands frozen over the dryer. Her mind is numb. She has taken care of so many patients in the past—is this what it felt like to be in shock?

_Maybe it's a misunderstanding_, she reasons mentally. _It has to be, this is a mistake, this isn't his, this isn't—_

But she knows it is. Because it's the only reason that could possibly explain the mystery that she's been trying to solve for years.

"No," she whispers, tears already streaming down her cheeks. "No, no, no, no—"

Laying at the bottom of the washer, tangled in with the rest of the clothes, is a suit. Not a black and white tuxedo suit, not a Halloween costume suit, not even a scuba-diver suit. No—it's—it's—

She falls to the floor on her hands and knees, mind racing with emotion and fear and realization. Everything her therapist has been telling her for weeks flies out the window, and she begins hyperventilating. Her hands grip at her hair tightly, and it takes all of her willpower to not hysterically sob right there on the laundry room floor.

Dear God…everything is so clear now. The mystery surrounding him, his enigmatic actions, it all makes so much _sense_. So much disgustingly-clear _sense_.

Her son…her baby boy…her nephew…her only purpose for living…is a vigilante hero throwing himself in harm's way over and over again. An enigma who cloaks himself inside a red and blue suit and slings from web to web throughout the city.

Peter Parker…is Spider-Man.

The thought makes her sick, though not in the way one may think. She is not sick because he is different, not because she thinks he is a villain. No, she is sick because of the burdens he must be carrying. Because if he has strange abilities, then that must mean—

She groans, not wanting to establish the connection between his father's research and him. How could he possibly find out? How could he possibly get his hands on it? It must be related—it's the only explanation. Ever since he started doing "afterschool work" with his odd science experiments and Ben gave him "the talk" about his father…he had been acting so odd, so strange, and now she knows why.

The possibility of Gwen's death being involved with all this sits in the back of her mind. She doesn't even want to _consider _that very realistic possibility.

May curls up into a fetal position and remains like that on the floor: crying silently, occasionally letting out a heart-wrenched sob. Perhaps hours pass by, she's not sure, but she feels as if she has failed. Maybe if she had done a better job, he would have come to her, instead of putting up a front and hiding behind excuses all the time.

Only after the telephone rings does she stumble out of her funk. Her eyes dart to the hallway where the ringing is emanating from. She's about to blatantly ignore it and go back to mulling over her nephew, when her ears catch the voice of the subject of her very thoughts.

"_Hey Aunt May…uh…I'm just letting you know I'll, um, be a little late for supper. I'll be okay, really, I'm going to go visit Gwen. Don't wait for me if it gets too late. Bye. Love you."_

Peter's voice snaps her out of her wallowing.

_He's visiting Gwen…again…_

It hits May how much worse it must be for _him_. Here she is, wallowing in self-misery like some emotional teenager, while her baby boy is out there _putting his life on the line for complete, random strangers_. Her baby boy who has lost so much so early in his life—his parents, uncle, his girlfriend…

Yet he comes home every day with a smile on his face. It is broken, and sometimes forced, but at least he tries. He puts in the effort to be strong—not for his sake, but for hers.

It takes some time for this thought to settle and for realization to dawn. And once it does, she feels pathetic for all the tears she has shed. If anyone deserves to cry, to break down, it is Peter. Not her. She is old; Peter is young. At his age, she had never had to worry about being a hero, about losing someone she loved. Not that she didn't miss Ben—oh God her heart squeezed every time she saw one of his belongings—but she'd had her time of bliss. A time when she was young and didn't have to worry about death and loneliness. A time without responsibility, without heartache.

A burst of resolve strengthens in her heart, and all the angst and misery from before transforms into determination.

Standing up, she still feels somewhat fragile, but she knows she'll harden up soon. Whether her son is aware of it or not, he needs her. She is the last person he has to support, love, and care for him. He may find another girlfriend, but he will never find another family.

She takes all the clothes, including the suit, and puts it in the dryer. Later, she'll pretend as if she didn't see it. When Peter questions her with anxious eyes about the stains, she'll just claim that it must have been the American flag mixed in his clothes. She'll half-lie and say how she was too tired to sort through the clothes, that she just threw them all in and didn't look at what was in there.

Eventually Peter will tell her his secret. For now, though, Aunt May will pretend like she is clueless. She'll "accidentally" leave out some medical supplies on the counter that she "forgot" to bring to the hospital. She'll pretend like she doesn't hear strange noises that seem to come from his room. She'll discreetly add in some money in his bank account when it starts to run low. And, most of all, she'll be there for him constantly, even when he thinks he doesn't need it.

Because one day, Peter will break. And when he does, his aunt will be ready to pick up the pieces.

* * *

**Note: I have no idea what this is. That scene with the laundry was just stuck in my head for the longest time; I wrote most of this last year right after I saw the second movie, but never finished due to schoolwork. And then re-watching it two nights ago I _had _to finish.**

**Hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave a review with any thoughts or comments :). **

**-Amanda**


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